


OKAY NERDS

by missazrael



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: And no one dies, DnD AU, Gen, and they're also all kind of stupid, because Armin is a ruthless DM, except their characters, gross indulgence, in that vein, playing Dungeons and Dragons together, probably some shippy stuff later, the one where everyone plays DnD, they die a lot, they're all gross teenagers in Armin's dad's basement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3283682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missazrael/pseuds/missazrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first session of the 104th Shingashina Dungeons and Dragons group is about to commence...</p>
            </blockquote>





	OKAY NERDS

The tavern is dark and gloomy, the wooden beams above your head as old and weathered as the shadowy figures that lurk in the spider-infested corners.  Gas lamps and candles struggle against the encroaching darkness and fail, casting guttering, weak light out across the room, illuminating hands both human and non, but never faces, and hoods hide what the light shyly tries to reveal.  The only true source of light comes from the crackling, roaring fire, large enough to roast an entire bull, that takes up an entire wall of the tavern.  Before the fire, basking in its heat, are a band of weary travelers, sharing a table made for many more and watching each other carefully.

It takes a few moments, but then an elf, slight and slender, lifts a glass and introduces himself to the party.

"What's up, guys?  I'm Wildfyre von Buchwald, who're you?"

The rest of the party eyes the elf uncertainly, particularly the dwarf in the corner, heavily armored and weighted down by his wrought breastplate and battle axe half as tall as himself.  It's a human who speaks next, his tone measured but not unfriendly.

"Greeting, good sir von Buchwald.  I am Eric..."

"No.  No, you're not.  That's a stupid name."

The human sighs heavily, casting a world-weary eye upon the elf.  " _Fine_.  What would you suggest?"

"Uh... Tiberius.  That's better, go with Tiberius."

"Okay."  He clears his throat and begins anew.  "I am Tiberius the Loyal, of the First Order of Protectors."

Tiberius and Wildfrye look around the table eagerly, waiting for the others to introduce themselves.  It is the dwarf who speaks next, putting his battle axe down across the table with a heavy, ringing clatter.  "I'm... Armin, what am I called?"

A voice rings down from the heavens, making all around the table jerk their heads skyward, trying to discover the source of the commotion.  "I can't name you, you need to come up with it on your own."

The dwarf furrows his brow, addressing the empty air as though in conversation with his god.  "But I'm bad at naming things.  Come on, man, you've met my dog, you know I'm not good at this."

"Sir Giant Hamfists," Wildfyre suggests helpfully.

The dwarf makes a casual, rude gesture, unknown to those of this realm, in the elf's direction, and Sir Tiberius muffles a laugh into his stein of mead.  "Anyone have a suggestion that's not total balls?"

"Sir Brick Shithouse?"

Tiberius lays a hand on Wildfyre's arm.  "Come on, knock it off," he says gently, and the elf relents.

Another voice pipes up, from a tall figure clothed all in black, a hood pulled low over his face.  "Percival is a good name for a knight?"

The dwarf snaps his fingers and points at the hooded figure, who draws back slightly as attention shifts to him.  "Yeah, I'm Percival, and I'm a dwarven knight.  And who're you?"

The figure draws in on himself, drawing his robes more closely around his body, but when he peers out from under his hood, his eyes are a bright, sparkling green, full of magic.  "They call me... Tim?"

Wildfyre bursts out laughing and pounds the table with one fist.  "Yes.   _Awesome_."

It is impossible to see Tim's expression in the depths of his hood, but he sounds warmer when he speaks again, as though his words carry great weight.  "And this is my friend."  He gestures towards the person sitting beside him, small and diminutive, almost gnomish in size but human in appearance, with shining, pale hair that bespeaks of elven ancestry many generations back.  She stares back across the table at the rest of the adventurers, impassive and remote, allowing Tim to introduce her.  "Her name is..."  The wizard pauses.  "Ann...a?"

She nods curtly, and Tim visibly relaxes as the attention of the table shifts from him to Anna.  A traveler from the edge of the table, hulking and brutish, perhaps descended from orcs somewhere down the line, leans forward on his elbow, a grin splitting his face and one eyebrow rising up into his shaggy hair.  "How's it going, Anna?  I'm Leeroy Jenkins, and I'm blood of the dragon."

The rest of the table recoils, but Anna continues staring at Leeroy, as cold and untouchable as a star.  It's Tim who speaks again on her behalf.  "The lady Anna has taken a vow of silence as part of her holy order," he tells everyone, apologetically.

The final character at the table, clothed all in shades of green and brown, with a fine bow slung across her back, speaks up, her accent markedly different from all the other adventurers.  "Can I order some food?  I want some food, I'm going to roll for food."

All eyes turn towards her, a slender human with long hair that gleams red in the firelight.  "And who are you, good traveler?" Sir Tiberius asks politely.

"Sasha."

Wildfyre groans.  "God, you all _suck_ at coming up with names."  He glances over at Tim.  "Except you, you're amazing."

"Thank you," Tim answers quietly, retreating further into his robes.

"What's wrong with Sasha?" Sasha asks indignantly.  "It's my name, it's fine!"

"But it's not a name for this!"

"Why can't it be?"

The voice from the heavens speaks again, already sounding tired of arguing.  "Sasha's fine, that can be her name if she wants."

" _Thank you_ ," Sasha proclaims, and sticks out her tongue at Wildfyre. The elf slams a hand down on the table and starts to stand, but Tiberius, with a weary sigh, takes hold of the back of his shirt and pulls him back down.

With everyone now introduced, the oddly matched group continues to sup, with Sasha stealing food off everyone’s plates. Leeroy Jenkins continues making eyes across the table at Anna, but she is completely impervious to his advances, instead choosing to listen to Percival and Tim discuss metalsmithing and nibbling on a crust of bread.

Suddenly, the door to the tavern swings open, bringing with it sheets of rain and a gust of cold wind. The fire gutters, sending a shower of sparks up into the chimney, and everyone turns to see who stands in the doorway, blocking out the night behind him.

A tall creature strolls in, bringing the stench of death with him. It’s an orc, enormous and battle-scarred, wearing full plate, his armor clinking against itself as he moves into the room.

Leeroy announces, “I speak Orcish!” and stands up. He hails the traveler. “Hey! I’m part orc too! What’re you doing here?”

The traveler turns towards the adventurers, his eyes glittering under his hood, and strides forward. Percival lays a hand upon his axe, and Tiberius tenses, his hand dropping to his sword. The orc moves until he stands chest to chest with Leeroy, and pokes a finger at him. “You travel far from the Orcish homelands. Why are you not with your brothers?”

Leeroy grins foolishly. “That’s my backstory, man. I can’t tell you that, we just met!”

The orc blinks, and for a moment almost appears to sigh, as though he wants to cradle his head in his hands and just be done with all of this for the day. Instead, he turns his attention to the rest of the table, switching to the Common tongue from Orcish, and while he addresses all of them, he seems as though he’s directing his attention towards Tim. “I seek adventurers to escort my wagon up the King’s Road. I can pay five gold to each of you.”

“Ten gold,” Wildfyre says instantly, and Sasha nods in agreement.

“Perhaps seven,” the orc concedes.

“That’s bullshit! We’d be putting our lives on the line for you and that’s all you’d pay? Not worth it.” Leeroy sits back down, crossign his arms over his chest and swinging his muddy boots up onto the table. Anna shoots him a dirty look and shakes her head, and he immediately brings them back down.

“What’s up the King’s Road?” Percival asks.

The orc shrugs. “Not a great deal. I’m certain a well-equipped group such as yourself won’t fall to any calamity.”

“Seven gold is still BS.” Wildfyre stands up, and this time Tiberius is too slow to pull him back down. “Ten, or we don’t go.”

The orc turns an eye towards him, and sniffs. “I have no time for your foolishness, woodlander. Leave the discussion to the men.”

Tiberius tackles Wildfyre to the ground just in time, and pins him against the earthen floor, where the elf complains loudly and bitterly. The orc, unperturbed, turns back to the group at large, ignoring the flailing limbs and loud cursing in Elvish. “If my terms are not agreeable, I’ll find another group of adventurers.”

Anna stands up, soundless but for the scrape of her chair across the ground, and strides to the orc. He must look down to make eye contact, just as she cranes her neck back, and though she says not a word, the orc wilts in her presence. She maintains eye contact for a few moments, then nods, once, before returning to her chair and taking her seat, crossing her legs at the ankles.

The orc coughs and rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “The lady has convinced me. Ten gold to each of you, five now and five later, when you see my goods to their destination up the King’s Road.”

~*~

Armin leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his blond bangs. “That’s all I’ve got for tonight, guys.”

“Whaaaaat?” Jean leans forward, his shaggy hair falling in his eyes, his words still lisping around recently-tightened braces. “We didn’t even _do_ anything!”

“It took awhile to explain the mechanics,” Armin tells him, quietly but resolutely closing the DM manual. “It’ll go faster the next time, I promise.”

“That was really fun!” Marco’s grin is bright and infectious, pushing the chub of his cheeks up near his dark eyes. “When can we do it again?”

“I can’t tomorrow, I’ve got debate.”

“And I’ve got football,” Reiner rumbles, looking up from his character sheet. “I’ve got football all week.”

“Cross country.” Annie, never one to waste words.

“Neeeeeerds,” Jean sneers, until Marco takes his elbow.

“You’ve got Photography Club and Yearbook,” he reminds him gently, and Jean sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Same time next week?” Armin asks hopefully, and everyone nods.

“I can help you make a dungeon between now and then,” Eren tells him, and Armin’s smile fractures just a little around the edges.

**Author's Note:**

> This is shameless self indulgence, I have no regrets.
> 
> I do, however, have [a tumblr](http://missazrael.tumblr.com)


End file.
